The Name
by listrant
Summary: Sherlock can't ignore it when he overhears the name John calls out late one night... This is a surprise crack fic. Read at your own risk.


_Sherlock_

Sherlock backed slowly out of his mind palace, carefully closing the large wooden doors behind him. He inhaled slowly for 4 counts and then exhaled for 8, opening his eyes as he reached the last number.

The sitting room of 221B Baker Street was empty, silent, and dark. Sherlock glanced at the clock. _Oh._

That's when he heard it. A low moan from up the stairs. Not just any moan. A name. Sherlock felt his heart start to race and face flush. _No. It couldn't be._

The detective waited, frozen, holding his breath for a few more seconds. He'd just begun to calm down when the same sound came again…this time followed by "oh god." Sherlock jumped to his feet. _Unexpected. Totally unexpected._ How had he not seen this coming? He ran through all the interactions between the two of them in his head…no, there'd been no indication that John wanted more than just friendship from their relationship.

Sherlock noticed in a detached way that he was now moving slowly toward the stairs. He just…had to know. Had to see for himself that this was really happening. He cursed the blood pounding in his ears; it was so loud he felt sure it would drown out the sounds he was so carefully listening for.

He stopped just outside of his friend's bedroom door, which was partially open. There was no denying what John was up to…the sounds were unmistakable. Sherlock fought the urge to rush in right then. But what if he'd heard wrong? That would make things a bit uncomfortable in the morning.

He could tell John was close. He decided to wait until he finished. If he didn't hear it again, he'd assume he was wrong. His relationship with John was too valuable to damage over a misunderstanding like this. And he really wasn't ready for anyone, even his best friend, to know the secret he'd only just discovered about himself. Ever since John came into his life, the realization had slowly been creeping up on him. Before that, he'd carefully closed off that part of his brain…but once friendship crept in, love wasn't very far behind.

"Ahh…fuck…yes!..." And then it happened again. John cried out the name as he came and Sherlock burst into the room, leveling his friend with a heated gaze.

"John!"

"Sher…shit! What are you doing? Get out! Get out, right now! Christ!" John practically jumped off the bed, and flailed around for a few seconds in a frantic attempt to cover up his spent arousal.

"No! Don't even bother denying it, John. I heard what you said!"

"What? What I…? Sherlock, I mean it…get out!" John stretched his arm out completely, pointing toward the door.

"Molly!" Sherlock barked the name like an accusation. "You shouted _Molly's_ name when you climaxed!"

"No, I…" John trailed off and shifted in the bed, looking away. When his gaze returned to Sherlock, it had become a glare. "What do you care anyway?! You've never even looked at her twice. Not that it's any of your damn business who I think about…"

Sherlock forced a nonchalant shrug, even as his fists balled up. "I have looked at her. I look at her every time we go in to Bart's."

John snorted. "Barely."

"Last Wednesday, she'd been running late to work. Her name tag was askew on her lab coat. She normally puts it on carefully, aligns it perfectly with the pocket, but when she's late, she doesn't. Slight bumps in her typically smooth ponytail…further indications that she'd been running late. Perhaps she was tired from bathing her cat the night before…telltale scratches on her arms. Terribly aloof, ungrateful creatures, can't imagine what she sees in them. She was disappointed that I arrived wearing that hobo disguise; her lips pursed slightly when she saw me. She does that when she's displeased. No doubt she would have preferred the white shirt with the grey suit…that's her favorite, though she's only seen me in it once. Perhaps _because_ she's only seen me in it once. She planned to have Thai food for lunch, and likes your new cologne. Again, I can't imagine why…you smell like a drunk dipped in lighter fluid…what's the alcohol content on that awful concoction?" Sherlock paused briefly for breath before immediately going on. "Her back was sore, she was missing her Mother, and she was on the third day of her cycle. What did _you_ notice about her?"

There was just enough light filtering in from the window for Sherlock to see John roll his eyes. "You do that to everyone."

Sherlock chose to ignore John's argument because he couldn't deny the truth in it.

"You can't…" Sherlock gestured at John in the bed. "It's completely inappropriate. She's my…_my _pathologist."

"Exactly. Your _pathologist_. Nothing more," John spat back.

Sherlock's brow furrowed and his hands came to his hips. "What else is there?!"

"Friend, boyfriend, husband…lover."

"So you've…you've taken it upon yourself to fulfill those roles for her?" Sherlock asked in obvious annoyance.

"I would like to…if she'll have me."

Sherlock spun around in a circle so that John wouldn't see him wince at the sincerity in his friend's voice.

"You still haven't answered the question. Why do you care?" John pressed.

"I don't! I just…can't have her distracted every time we come in…" _Feeble._ Even as he said it, Sherlock realized that this was a feeble excuse, at best.

"You mean distracted by someone other than _you_." John's lips held the "u" shape for a few seconds after he'd finished saying the words and Sherlock realized he'd been found out. No more sense in denying it, then.

"Yes, exactly," he responded.

"You can't handle a bit of competition."

"There is no competition, John." Sherlock gave a closed-lip smile and then turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

* * *

_John_

When John came downstairs the following morning, he found Sherlock seated in his usual chair dressed in somewhat unusual attire. The grey suit with a white shirt.

"Aw…come on, seriously? Are you really that insecure?" John asked, heading for the kitchen.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sherlock was fiddling with the strings on his violin.

"You haven't worn that suit in ages," John grumbled.

"About time I did then."

John stopped short as he walked behind Sherlock's chair. He sniffed the air.

"Are you…you're wearing my cologne!"

"One of your more impressive observations, Dr. Watson."

"You said you hated it!"

"Yes well…must needs." Sherlock twirled his bow in the air lazily as he spoke.

"The phrase is 'needs must,'" John corrected.

"Whatever."

John balked, raising his eyes briefly to the ceiling. The fact that he noticed a strange orange gel congealed there did nothing to alleviate his growing irritation. "You mean to tell me that we're both going to walk around all day smelling of that cologne?"

"Hm…you're half right." Sherlock rose from his chair, put down the violin, and approached the window, pulling it open.

John had just enough time to register Sherlock pulling the cologne out of his pocket, before the glass bottle went soaring out the window.

An angry cry rose up from the street, followed promptly by the sound of shattering glass.

"Great. Sherlock, you've probably just killed someone," John deadpanned.

Sherlock stuck his head out the window and shouted "free sample!" before leaning back in and pushing it shut again.

John raised his eyebrows and Sherlock scowled. "Oh, he'll be fine…" Sherlock paused before adding "So long as he doesn't stand too close to an open flame."

"Yeah, well you owe me 50 quid."

"Are you ready to go?" Sherlock asked, ignoring John's previous statement.

"Where?" John called back from the kitchen, where he was just pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

"Bart's, of course."

"You had no plans to go to Bart's yesterday."

"Lestrade phoned…fresh meat."

"Can you not say it that way?" John asked through the only mouthful of cereal he'd had time to eat as he followed Sherlock down the stairs.

* * *

_Molly_

Molly bit back a gasp when Sherlock and John came striding into the morgue.

Sherlock was wearing _the_ suit. Her favorite suit. No coat. No scarf. No distractions. Just the perfectly tailored grey suit.

"Molly," Sherlock greeted her warmly with a heart-stopping smile. _Oh god._ _That look should be illegal, _Molly thought.

"What do you want?" she asked suspiciously, looking away from Sherlock.

"Just to see that new car accident victim…if it's not too much trouble." Sherlock's voice was as smooth as honey.

"I…Sure…that's not usually your bag," Molly called over her shoulder as she moved to the row of metal drawers.

"I'm diversifying."

Molly began to pull the body bag onto a cart to move it to the examining table and John rushed over.

"Let me help you with that," the army doctor offered.

"Thanks," Molly smiled back at him and allowed him to help her move the body into position on the table Sherlock waited beside. Had she not looked down just then to pull the zipper down on the black bag, she'd have noticed the exchange of angry glares that happened over head.

Sherlock came up close beside her, seemingly fascinated with the corpse's left wrist and Molly jumped back out of his way, but not before she got a strong whiff of cologne. She _loved_ that cologne.

"Oh…it was you last week!" she blurted before she could stop herself. "I thought that it was John…with the cologne…"

To Molly's surprise, Sherlock abandoned his examination of the body and immediately pulled himself upright and spun around to face her.

"Do you like it?" he asked with one brow raised, as he reached for the button on his suit jacket and started pulling it off to reveal the thin, almost see through, white shirt underneath. With the jacket gone, Molly was able to more fully appreciate his slim hips and the perfect fit of the trousers below them.

"I…uhm…well...yes. It's very nice," she managed to choke out.

"It actually _is_ mine," John interjected, coming to stand between Sherlock and Molly.

"John was giving out free samples today. Would you mind holding this, Molly?" Sherlock stepped around John to offer the suit jacket to her.

"Uhm…sure." Molly draped the jacket carefully over her arm, but then nearly dropped it when Sherlock turned back around and bent over at the waist to closely examine the corpse again.

"Molly," John said.

"Hm?" She asked distractedly.

"Molly, you're a big trekkie, right?" he continued and Molly's eyes were finally pulled away from Sherlock's backside as she answered with an excited "yes!"

"Did you hear about the new movie?" John asked.

"I'm dying to see it!"

"Would you like to-"

"Molly! What was your conclusion for cause of death?" Sherlock interrupted harshly.

Molly held up a finger to John and came over to the table beside Sherlock. "At first glance it looked like internal hemorrhaging from blunt trauma, typical for a car collision…"

"But…?" Sherlock prompted when she trailed off.

"But there was only minimal blood in the chest cavity…this man was already dead at the time of impact," Molly finished.

"Correct," Sherlock praised her with a smile and petite brunette beamed back at him.

"Molly," John started once more and Molly turned away from Sherlock to look at him. "Do you want to-"

"I hope your cat feels better," Sherlock cut in yet again.

"Hmm?" Molly's head swung back around to the dark haired man. This was beginning to feel a bit like watching a tennis match.

"Your cat, it was ill this morning, wasn't it? I hope it gets better," Sherlock continued.

"It? Is that really the best you can do? You don't even know whether it's male or female?" John criticized.

"Oh and you do?" Sherlock ground out.

"As a matter of fact, I do. It's a male. His name is Toby. What happened to Toby this morning, Molly? You see, that's how a decent _friend_ who cared would ask that question."

"Oh well…he…just…had a little…vomit. On the carpet. But I think he'll be fine…I think it might be something he ate…I was eating bon bons in bed last night and I think that maybe he finished off the bag after I fell asleep. I checked the ingredients and I don't think he's in any dan-" Molly's words drifted to a stop when she realized that neither of the men was listening.

"Oh is that what you are? A decent friend?" Sherlock was saying, his voice full of bitter resentment. "I must have confused you with someone else last night because your behavior was completely _indecent_ as far as I'm concerned."

Molly's teeth worried at her bottom lip as John's face colored. She couldn't tell what the argument was about, but they were both obviously very upset and she hated to see it.

"Me? I'm indecent? You're the one who waltzed in here and started _stripping_ and won't even let me get a word in edgewise because you are so _damn_ insecure that you can't even entertain the possibility that some people may prefer someone else over you."

"I am not the slightest bit insecure. And I removed my jacket because it was restricting my movement while examining the body…that's why I hardly ever wear this suit."

"Yeah? Then why are you wearing it today?!" John accused.

At the mention of Sherlock's clothes, Molly realized she was still holding his jacket and she quickly draped it over an empty exam table. It obviously had something to do with this fight and it seemed unwise to be caught standing in the middle of the boxing ring holding the prize trophy.

"If _some people_ truly preferred you over me then it wouldn't matter what I was wearing, would it?!"

The morgue door swung open and Detective Inspector Lestrade walked in.

* * *

_Greg_

"Hello…Sher-" Lestrade cut off sharply when he realized that John and Sherlock were obviously having a massive row. Molly stood watching in obvious discomfort. Greg gave her a smile, which she immediately returned.

"I'll be with you in just a moment, Lestrade," Sherlock called, before returning to his argument with John.

"Ah no…don't mind me. I'm not here for you this time," Lestrade responded jovially. Nothing was going to spoil his good mood today, least of all the pain in the neck detective and his sidekick. He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, rocking back on his heels and shooting Molly an expectant look.

"Let me just go run and grab my coat, Greg," Molly said, sparing Sherlock and John one more worried glance before quickly moving towards the door that led to the morgue's attached offices.

"What?" the detective and the doctor spat out simultaneously at the older man. _Ah. Molly hadn't told them._ Well, he couldn't pretend he wasn't going to enjoy this.

"Yep. I'm just here to pick Molly up for our lunch date," Greg answered with a sly smile. "So we'll just get out of your way and you two can go back to your little domestic."

"Your lunch…" Sherlock murmured in disbelief just as Molly was coming back into the room. John's expression was equally stricken. _That's right boys, I've still got it. Eat your hearts out._

"Oh, would you two mind putting that body back in the cooler when you're done with it?" Molly asked, pulling on her light green coat and lifting her bag onto her shoulder. "It's just drawer number 5…just there…you remember…?"

"I…" John began.

"Great. Thanks." Molly turned to head towards the door.

"Well…later, boys," the Detective Inspector grinned. "You'll let me know who wins, eh?" Greg followed Molly out the door, leaving Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson behind in the morgue, staring at each other in stunned silence.

* * *

_Mk, that's it...did you see it coming? I hope not. I hope you enjoyed it at any rate. It was fun to do something a bit more silly for once._

_If it wasn't apparent, the names at the beginning of each section were supposed to show the POV shift (it's obviously all third person, but switches by being limited to that person)._

_I'd love to hear what you guys thought...and how many of the twists you saw coming! :)_


End file.
